


You're Already Caught

by vigilantejam



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Biting, Blood, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mouth Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Violence, carnivale was a sex party right, rat4rat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24442531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vigilantejam/pseuds/vigilantejam
Summary: “Be careful, Chas. I hear he bites.”“Don't worry about me, darling. I'll be sure to give as good as I get.”rat seeks rat. for rat stuff.
Relationships: Charles Frederick Des Voeux/Cornelius Hickey
Comments: 21
Kudos: 36





	You're Already Caught

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reserve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/gifts), [robokittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/gifts).



“Hello, darling.”

They got split up in the rush to get in and the clamouring for drink and food. The place is still busy with excitement and a quick glance about the room tells him all attention is elsewhere, so Des Voeux leans over and pecks a kiss to Dundy's cheek before settling on the bench next to him. He sits close, and drops a hand to Dundy's knee, just a little weight to get him started. He'll work up the thigh in a minute.

Des Voeux looks around. The sound is built up in layers, humming gossip, clattering cups and cutlery, singing, sudden roars and cheers. There is steam rising from pots and cauldrons and settling into a cloud against the canvas roof. Sweat and rum, meat and salt sting in his nostrils already. The Marines are huddled together. The doctors are in greasepaint. John Bridgens is in a corner with Henry Peglar, already.

“Bridgens wasted no time, the randy old fuck,” he says, keeping his voice low, just for them.

“Oh, I know,” Dundy says. “I saw them when the Terrors came aboard. Called the boy to his room, can you believe. Anyway, I dropped a hint I might have half an eye on young Henry myself, so he's marking his territory, bless him.”

“Anyone you _do_ have your eye on?” Des Voeux asks.

He creeps his hand further up Dundy's leg, squeezing the muscle and massaging the crease of his hip. Dundy swings his arm up over Des Voeux's shoulder and wraps a large hand around the back of his neck. It's firm and steady, his forefinger drawing small circles in the hair at Des Voeux's nape. He lets himself lean into it and relax the tension in his shoulders, closing his eyes just for a moment. 

“Hmm, one or two ideas. Fitz wants my pistol for the races, maybe I'll catch someone in the throes of victory. Picked out yours yet?”

Des Voeux splays his hand over Dundy's crotch and rubs once, twice, then retreats, enjoying the little huff of breath he gets in return. He looks over the crowd, and then nods over to where Mr Hickey is lurking.

“I think I'll see what the fuss is about,” he says.

“Be careful, Chas,” Dundy purrs in his way that means _bring me details_. “I hear he bites.”

Des Voeux's eyes follow Hickey as he walks around. He moves quietly and unobtrusively, and anyone not paying attention would think without purpose. But Des Voeux _is_ paying attention and watches him occasionally leaning in to say something close in the ear of various men. He's otherwise alone, however, and it will be easy to catch his notice.

“Don't worry about me, darling. I'll be sure to give as good as I get.”

He gives Dundy one last squeeze and stands up, begins snaking his way through the crowd. He bumps an elbow and spills ale where it fails to get out of his way. Hickey looks up at the disgruntled shouting, and Des Voeux cocks his head and makes his way over, holding the eye contact. He gives Hickey a long look down and up his body as he approaches. When he makes it back up to his eyes, he gives a wink and carries on walking right past him. He feels Hickey fall into step just behind him, but as he goes to turn into some dark corner Hickey catches his elbow and steers him through a flap in the canvas.

The night is actually quite beautiful, not that Des Voeux can really appreciate it before Hickey is crowding him up against a stack of chests and nets and cases. Beneath the fresh air is the grubby aroma of leather and rope, piss and vomit.

“Oooh, _she's in charge_ ,” he says, licking his lips.

“Yes, I am,” Hickey says, removing his hat and pushing further into Des Voeux's space.

“How enterprising of you.”

Hickey's getting right up in his face, and he's okay with that for now, until Hickey tips his jaw for a kiss. Des Voeux puts a finger to his lips and pushes him back.

“I did have other ideas for your infamous mouth.”

“Oh, you did?”

His lips are soft and the bristles of his moustache tickle the tip of Des Voeux's finger as he speaks. His eyes crease at the corners and Des Voeux thinks he knows which bit of that sentence did it for him. He moves instead for the string of Des Voeux's slops.

“I appreciate the offer,” Des Voeux says, pleased and playful. He doesn't move away, just Hickey's hands near him, a threat or a promise, has him stirring. “That _was_ the plan, but maybe not in this cold, eh?”

“It's not that cold,” Hickey shrugs, and his lips catch on Des Voeux's finger, parting.

“Hmm.”

Des Voeux can't argue, pressed up against him like this, he can already feel the heat radiating. He pushes into Hickey's mouth and it might as well be the stove fire. It's hot and wet, as if Hickey's been waiting for it since Des Voeux looked at him. He moves the single finger slowly in and out, crooks it down a little to stroke along Hickey's tongue. He catches the front of Hickey's coat and tugs him in, his thumb deftly pushing the buttons through the holes to open him up. 

He's -

Des Voeux is wearing a green ornate silk tunic, the effect slightly ruined by having it pulled so tight over his shirt and bulky woollen layers. Hickey, beneath the greatcoat that reaches all the way to his ankles, has on only underwear. His chest is blank canvas bare, freckled and tight, his nipples to attention. His collarbones jut out and draw lines of light and shadow along his shoulder to where his wiry arms disappear into the coat sleeves. Des Voeux swallows.

He steps back, widening his stance a little as he goes, and when he's certain the uneven pile of crates behind him isn't about to topple over, he leans back and lets it take his weight. Hickey hardly needs encouragement to follow him, and when he pulls his hand back Hickey moves with it, his teeth lightly holding Des Voeux's knuckle.

“That's right.”

He pushes another finger alongside the first, watches Hickey's lips close tight around them and his cheeks hollow out. It's not what he had had in mind for his evening, but there's something to be said for improvisation. He gets a hand into Hickey's coat and palms the lean flesh at his waist and the lines of his bones. He draws him closer in, finally gasping with pleasure as Hickey's thigh fits between his legs and he grinds into him. Hickey's fingers are winding into the nets at either side of his head, his arms braced, holding himself arched back and rolling his hips in time as Des Voeux pushes back against him and fucks Hickey's mouth with his fingers.

Des Voeux is mesmerised, watching Hickey's mouth as he shoves in a third finger. When he drags his gaze up to Hickey's eyes he sees them burning bright, looking for Des Voeux's reaction as he rolls his tongue in languid waves against his palm, slides between his fingers until they spread and stretch his lips. He presses his leg forward just so that Des Voeux barks out a string of profanity.

_Jesus God-Fucking Christ._

Des Voeux moves his hand faster, fucking harder into Hickey's mouth. His hand is soaking, saliva running down his palm and across his wrist, cooling in the air and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He presses down and back and feels Hickey's throat contract and gag against him. Hickey's eyes flare.

“Just as well it's not my prick, if that's all you can take,” Des Voeux sneers and laughs, then pushes again for the same reaction.

Hickey's hand grabs the back of his hair and pulls, then he smiles sweetly around Des Voeux's fingers and bites down.

_Yes yes yes, you little shit. I knew it. You think I don't see you? Come and get it._

He picks up the pace, feeling the branding pain of Hickey's teeth scraping and gnawing at his knuckles. Hickey's eyes are wide, his pupils blown, his hand fisting into Des Voeux's hair, crowding even closer to rut into him. He smells like other sailors, sweat and salt and tobacco, and unlike them, no alcohol or sugar. He smells of pine and pitch, of heat and want. There are too many clothes. Why are they _outside_? Des Voeux's breath is ragged, he's nearly there. _Fuck_ , he wants to add a fourth finger, his thumb, wants to fuck his whole fist into Hickey's mouth and break his jaw. Instead he pulls his dripping fingers back and shoves his hand down the front of Hickey's underwear. Hickey curses and fires a spray of saliva in Des Voeux's face. He pulls the front of his drawers down, exposing himself and jerking his hips into Des Voeux's slick hand.

“If you get spunk on my frock I'll rip it off,” Des Voeux growls.

“You better catch it all then.”

Des Voeux drops his mouth to Hickey's bare collarbone and Hickey cradles him there, his hand flying over Hickey's cock as he bites and sucks. He tears and worries at the same spot until he tastes blood then looks up to give Hickey a red smile. Hickey's upon him then. His hands clamped over Des Voeux's ears, fingers digging into his skull and holding him tight and still as he licks and hauls his way into Des Voeux's mouth, tasting himself and smearing away the smugness, crushing them together. Des Voeux's hand is trapped between them and he grinds against his own wrist as he tugs Hickey's prick. Hickey's biting kisses are sharp and dangerous and he moves along Des Voeux's jaw, rakes his teeth down his throat. His hands push back into his hair and tighten just as he grinds hard into Des Voeux's crotch and bites into the soft flesh at the base of his neck. Des Voeux swears, shudders, and comes in his slops. And Hickey feels it, because he's grinning like a wolf and then nips his way back up to Des Voeux's ear, his breath hot and wet as he growls.

“I'm fucking close.”

His hands push down on Des Voeux's shoulders but he hardly needs direction. He drops down on his weak knees, hitting ice and a cushion of snow, and takes a moment to press his nose into the crease of Hickey's groin and drink in the familiar scent of sweat, piss, dirty wool and dried semen. It hits the back of his throat and his mouth floods. No stranger to getting a man off in short order, he wraps his lips around Hickey's cock and works tongue and fist quickly, reaching around to scrape blunt nails down the back of Hickey's thigh. Hickey's hand tightens on the back of his head and it figures that's as much warning as he gets before Hickey is spilling into his mouth.

Des Voeux gets to his feet and makes sure he has an audience before he empties his mouth into his hand, and wipes the spendings and spit onto the inside of Hickey's coat.

He smiles his most charming and infuriating smile as Hickey's eyes flash again and the backhand comes quick and hard across his face, snapping his neck to the side. Hickey has bitten his mouth raw and the impact against his teeth splits his lip. His face throbs with pain and it washes through his skull, his ears ringing. Des Voeux flicks his tongue out for a taste of blood and he grins again.

“Is that all you've got for me?”

He's bracing himself when someone clears their throat behind Hickey.

“Mr Des Voeux.”

Stanley appears round the corner of the tent, and the clown make-up and ludicrous ruff don't do anything to lighten his brisk official tone. There's something else tight in his voice too, bringing Des Voeux up short as he looks at him over Hickey's shoulder. 

“Yes, Doctor?”

“The captain is here.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

Stanley gives a tight lipped grimace that Des Voeux supposes was meant to be a smile and vanishes back inside. Even for the doctor it was a poor effort. Anyone would think this wasn't a party.

“Mr Hickey, a pleasure,” Des Voeux says with a wink and pats Hickey's arse as he slips past him, straightening out his costume and wiping down his hand as he follows after Stanley.

He touches his thumb to where Hickey hit him, and traces across the swollen wreck of his lips, and pulls his mask down over the whole perfect mess. The best of it will calm down quickly enough, no need to alarm anyone.

The mood inside the tent has changed. It's hardly surprising. The captain has been conspicuously absent for some time and his first appearance is roaming about crashing a perfectly good benjo. Des Voeux can't see him and wanders through the maze of crates and cases, his mind drifting back outside. He spots Hickey again, relieving himself on some chests. He wonders how quickly Hickey's hot little weasel body can recover, if they can go another round, and just how much he'll let him mess him up this time. He's already on his way over when the captain starts addressing the men, somewhere close, and he chooses a different game.

“Mr Hickey. Take it outside, this isn't a stable. Unless you want that ripped off?”

He extends the invitation, puts his hand to Hickey's shoulder and presses into the mark he left just minutes ago that should be bruising nicely. Then he walks towards the exit, side steps, and deliberately loses himself in the crowd until he is by Dundy's side. Out of the corner of his eye he watches Hickey leave. Let him wait out in the cold.

**Author's Note:**

> love and thanks to all the fam, but mostly to reserve for bringing "rat4rat" into my life and making me lose my dang mind
> 
> fic title from [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kS-pLtSx5DI) because i'm unstoppable


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